Self-scape

I feel where droughts parch my spirit
Cracked landscapes within me
where I roam for days without water
or shoes
or shade
and dry out like roadkill in the summertime
Being my own worst enemy is like a carousel
I am sat on a horse of my own devising
trawling depths
constant altitude alternation
moving around and around and I’m getting dizzy
It’s all cyclical
It’s all death in the end
It’s all life in the mean time
Bull by the horns
Rome wasn’t built in a day
Be your own best person
all of that shit
I feel where I flourish
nourishment at an all time high
reservoir is brimming and spilling over
Where I create oceans
and rainforests sprawl, speaking whispered tongues
I don’t spend nearly enough time afloat
but I’m always holding my own hand